


Troublesome Tulips

by StarlingHawke (Bowm8935)



Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Hanahaki Disease, M/M, Sorry Not Sorry, Unrequited Love, a douse of brotherly love, rfa more like gayfa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2017-11-02
Packaged: 2019-01-27 13:25:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12582884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bowm8935/pseuds/StarlingHawke
Summary: It’s not really a surprise when the disease manifests itself. But could it have picked a worse time?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> :3  
> >:3  
> >:3c

It wasn’t until the first petal fell onto the impossibly soft blanket that Saeyoung knew it was too late for him. The yellow of the thing was a stark contrast to the dark blue, standing out even against the stars patterned all over the fabric. Soft, healthy and bright, the appearance of it is anything but any of those particular adjectives. For with the presence of that sole petal comes the likelihood of impending death.

Maybe he should go to the doctor. For all his knowledge, this particular disease is not one he’d ever bothered to study up on. After all, when one’s not in a position to ever love someone, why bother worrying about it? Plus, had it happened while he was still on the agency’s payroll, they’d have simply removed it in a heartbeat.

What a simple way to make sure their agents wouldn’t stray from the course set before them. A handy little disease thats only cure is surgery. With the removal of the plant, the feelings disappear as well. Much cleaner than having to deal with cancer or love, both ending up in ugly deaths one way or the other.

It’s hard to believe that such a beautiful thing came from inside of him. He’s dark, cursed. A bad man with a terrible past. Yet he produced this one petal, the entire opposite of what he is. Brows furrowed, he reaches down and takes it gingerly between his fingers. It feels just like one from a freshly bloomed bud. A tulip, he thinks. There’s tulips blooming in his lungs. How long does he have?

More importantly, what is he to do about it?

This is supposed to be a joyous time. The secret engagement was just announced last night and the happy couple couldn’t have been more radiant. He’s happy for them, as their friend. Besides, he knew he never had a chance. A shooting star is impossible to catch, after all, unless you have the stability of a sun.

The closest Saeyoung would be is the moon, and the moon is only good for helping the tide remain even on the earth. So he will keep circling, watching from the outside and making sure the whole of the RFA is safe, them included. He’ll watch and he’ll live his time out. And when the time comes, he’ll either die or go under the knife and forget he ever loved him.

—

It’s been a week since he’s seen Saeran. After the party they’d both came home and retired to separate rooms, too depressed to talk. With every passing day the interval at which the petals make themselves known becomes steadier, slowly forming a predictable pattern. A slight cough and one comes falling out onto the kitchen counter where tired eyes try to fix up some breakfast but he just brushes it off into the bin, not even sparing it a second glance. The threat to his life is secondary when compared to the well-being of his only brother, brought back from the dregs of overdose and brainwashing. It’s been a hard few years but the improvement is noticeable, as is the steadily rising warmth of their own relationship. Saeyoung’s not sure Saeran will ever truly let him in completely, and that’s okay. He’ll take what he can get. He’s used to eating from the scraps of others, plus this one… this is a well-earned struggle. Saeran could tell him to fuck off forever and Saeyoung would think it was deserved.

A sigh escapes from Saeyoung as he pulls out the whipped cream from the fridge and draws a lopsided smiley face on the chocolate chip pancakes he’s made, hoping to at least get a glimpse of his brother in return for a sweet meal. While neither of them are terribly social, it’s rare to go this long without some interaction. Saeyoung’s finding it hard to believe that Saeran’s even left his room at all.

Plate in one hand and a steaming mug of hot cocoa in the other, Saeyoung makes his way out of the kitchen and across the living room, mind whirring as he walks. He’s glad he’s developed an algorithm that can seemingly predict when the petals will fall and has already started developing one that’ll tell him when the disease will progress. This is a necessity so that he can keep it hidden from those around him; so he can plan how to get away when he’s out, or take strategic bathroom breaks when someone is over.

The hardest part would be hiding from Saeran, but he’d have to come out of his room for that. As long as he’s okay and not in the middle of some relapse, Saeyoung will take it as a blessing in disguise that he doesn’t risk his hyper attentive brother noticing all of the random yellow petals in the garbage can.

“Oh Saeran~” The door isn’t completely shut so Saeyoung uses a hip to bump it open, standing in the doorway with the brightest grin he can muster. “I brought you some chocolate chip pancakes and hot chocolate!”

He’s greeted with the shuffling of sheets, then a grunt. “Fuck off, Saeyoung. I don’t want to see anyone.”

Saeyoung sighs. Not a good day, then. “I’ll just leave it on your desk then, for if you get hungry la-“

It’s only two steps in before Saeran’s standing in front of him, skin pale, eyes bloodshot. He’d shot out of that bed like a bullet the minute Seven had started to enter, a scowl on his face as he rips the plate and cup from Saeyoung’s hands. “I told you to fuck off,” he says, but there’s less bite behind it than Saeyoung expects. The low rumbling of his stomach causes a small bit of color to return to his cheeks before he turns and drops them on the desk. “Thanks for breakfast. Now get out of my room.”

Shrugging, Saeyoung gently closes the door and stands there, staring a moment. It almost felt like Saeran was hiding something from him but those days are over… right?

Doubting his twin won’t get him anywhere. It’s time to get back to work, to try to make enough money to set Saeran up for life after he’s gone. If that’s the route he chooses. Otherwise maybe he’ll have enough for the surgery and hush money and be able to rest for a while. Whichever happens. He can take it in stride.

Not like he has much else of a choice.

—

“Six months!?”

Yoosung laughs, the sound as beautiful as chimes in the wind. “Yeah, we just couldn’t wait, you know? After having to keep our relationship a secret for so long, we can’t think of a reason to wait. So what about it? Do you wanna be my best man?”

Saeyoung swallows against the bile he feels rising in his throat. Six months. That’s on the long end of how long someone with Hanahaki disease can live, if precautions are taken. One of those precautions tends to be avoidance of the one they love, but this would be impossible. He’s already lived with it for almost a month now. And he can’t accept this offer knowing he won’t be there, knowing that even if he lives, he won’t be in any condition to walk down that aisle to give his best friend away.

Knowing that there’s a high chance he’d die before and ruin everything, like he always does.

But he’s so hesitant about the surgery. Of course he’s upset at the idea of losing his feelings; they’re part of what keeps him going, what keeps him warm at night. One of the only things outside of Saeran that makes him feel there might be hope for him yet. He knows it’s what is right, what is proper. It’s what would be most beneficial to everyone involved. The possible (and rare) side effect of never being able to love again doesn’t particularly bother him, because someone like him should never have been allowed to love in the first place.

He’s worried that somehow, removing the romantic feelings will also remove the platonic ones. What if getting the plant cut out doesn’t just mean he’ll no longer yearn to be with him; what if it completely severs their friendship? Granted, that’s another thing a cockroach like him doesn’t deserve but by god if he isn’t going to fight for what he already has.

“...Saeyoung?”

Yoosung’s worried voice snaps him out of his head and Saeyoung looks up at him, fully aware of the pain and regret plastered across his own face. “I’m sorry, Yoosung, but I just… I can’t do it.” He can’t promise he’ll live to be there. He can’t promise he’ll care enough to show up.

The hurt that springs forth in those beautiful eyes is like a lance through the heart. Right now Saeyoung would really just like to curl up and die, so can those roots hurry up and work their way through his respiratory system so he’ll suffocate, thanks. Why did it have to be like this? If his unrequited feelings were going to blossom into a nasty plant of death, couldn’t they have done it sooner or later instead of now?

“I-I… okay, that’s… that’s fine. I’ll ask someone else, I guess.” The way Yoosung’s words shake makes everything feel even worse and Saeyoung knows that if he were to look up, he’d see tears pressing to try to fall.

A tickle starts in his lungs.

Oh god. Not now.

It’s not time yet.

“Bathroom,” he manages to say before standing and bolting toward the indicated room, throwing a hand over his mouth. The door slams behind him just before the coughing starts. It’s worse this time, the ache from each hack traveling through his entire chest.

A handful of petals fall into his palm. As he’s staring at them, there’s a knock on the door.

“Sae-Saeyoung? Are you okay?”

“Fine,” he calls back, fighting the urge to cough as it rises again. “Just getting a cold I think. Not feeling the best.”

“Oh. Uh… should I go, then?”

“That would probably be good. Don’t want you to get sick. You have a lot of planning to do.” The voice that comes out is far stronger and calmer than the whirlpool of emotions inside of him. The cough pushes past and starts again.

“Okay. Um. Feel better!”

As much as he’d like to answer, he can’t. This one hurts worse than the last and he just can’t stop coughing, feeling something slowly working it’s way up his throat. When it falls into his hand, the yellow offset by the dark red of blood, his heart sinks.

This time it is a full bud.

That means his time is almost up already.

—

Everything is hazy. Standing for more than a few minutes brings black spots to the corners of his eyes and god, how did this happen to him? The days are starting to blur together and all he does is type away at the laptop on his bed, trying to make everyone believe that he’s okay. Yoosung found another best man; a friend from college. It stings just about as much as knowing he’s getting married. It stings enough to remind him that he’s still alive, if not for much longer.

His stomach complains and his mouth feels like cotton. When was the last time he had anything to eat or drink? He’s not sure, caught between the impromptu naps the lack of oxygen forces on him and the desire to finish this _one last job_ that will hopefully make everything complete. Then he’ll go to the doctor.

Or maybe not.

Fuck. What is wrong with him? Not much time left and he still doesn’t know what he’d rather do. It should be an easy choice, right? Just get it removed. There’s no way his love will ever be returned, especially not in time to save his life. Yet he lacks the willpower to do that for the fear that he’ll stop caring about Yoosung completely. There’s no recorded cases of that but his anxiety still whispers that it could happen. And his depression says he’d rather die than live without Yoosung in his life at all.

Why him?

The coughs have started to sound more like hoarse barks and as another episode hits him, he leans over to grab the bin sitting next to the bed. It’s nearly filled by now, full of wilted petals and buds, all of them stained by his own blood. The colors go together so well, red and yellow; ironic how they represent the two of them. They’re so beautiful but the combination is deadly. How truly appropriate.

His entire body shakes with every hack, his ears ringing and his head light from the lack of oxygen. It wouldn’t be unusual for him to pass out from coughing. Sometimes it’s just too much on his dying body. It isn’t until he finally manages to gulp in a few breaths and regain some sort of coherency that he notices the smell of soup and that he’s no longer alone.

“S..Saeran?” Squinting at the blurry shape by the door, he pushes his glasses up and rubs his eyes, trying to dredge the sleep from them. “Why are you here?”

With his vision a little more clear he can make out the pissed off expression Saeran’s wearing as he glares straight at the trash bin and he flinches; fuck. He’s been found out.

“Well, I _was_  bringing your dumb ass some soup and asking you to go to the fucking doctor, but I guess now I have no choice but to drag you there, you fucking idiot.” Saeran slams down the bowl on the bedside table, uncaring as soup sloshes over the side and steps forward, hand fisting in the sweat-soaked shirt Saeyoung’s wearing. Yanking him up so that their noses almost touch, he glowers at Saeyoung. “Why the _hell_ are you just sitting in here, working? Did you think you’d be doing anyone a favor by dying? Do you think this is what Yoosung would want? Yeah, I know you’re fucking in love with him,” he adds in response to the shocked look Saeyoung gives him. “Did you even _think_ about what this would do to me?”

Suddenly Saeyoung’s flying through the air, landing on the bed again with a loud squeak as the mattress protests the abuse. “I was working to make money so that you-“

“Don’t even finish that fucking sentence.” Saeran’s voice is a low growl now and when Saeyoung shakily props himself up he sees him digging around on the floor for something. “Put these nasty ass socks on and then we’re going. Don’t argue.”

Saeyoung ducks as black socks are chucked at his head and he sighs, pushing himself to sit up and pull them on.

—

The trip to the hospital is quiet but there’s no doubt Saeran’s still livid from the tension hanging in the air. Slumping back in his seat, Saeyoung watches the scenery go by with little interest in it. There’s an empty ice cream container on his lap; he doesn’t remember how it got there but he’s sure it’s for when he coughs. There’s another one sitting next to Saeran but he’s not surprised; Saeran’s nothing if not prepared. They’re opposites in that way. Probably just wanted to make sure he doesn’t have to clean up bloody flowers later and honestly, who could blame him.

Once Saeran pulls into the lot, he unbuckles and turns to Saeyoung. “Stay here,” he orders before grabbing both containers and disappearing. If not for the gravity of the situation, Saeyoung might actually be thrilled to know Saeran cares enough about him to force him to get help. As it is, he’s having a hard time staying awake.

The click of a door and a hand wraps around his arm, tugging on him. “Come on, idiot, get out. You have to help me at least a little.”

It’s hard work, forcing his limbs to move but he manages to sort of fall into a wheelchair. His raspy chuckle morphs into a procession of coughs when Saeran mutters something about it almost being too late and how much he was going to make Saeyoung pay for this later. The original ice cream container is shoved under his mouth and he holds onto it for dear life, not paying attention to where they’re going as Saeran wheels them in.

The sterile smell every hospital has hits him and it’s too much, coughing and wheezing even harder until his life is nothing more than blackness creeping in the edges of his vision and the panicked shouts of his brother.

Then there’s nothing.


	2. Chapter 2

It’s bright. God, it’s so bright. It hurts his eyes, highlighting the veins under his eyelids that crawl along like tiny little snakes sucking all the hydration out of him to leave him a withering husk of a man.

Why is it so bright? Why does it feel like it’s stabbing him in the brain? No, that’s not the most important question right now.

Why do his lungs feel like they’re able to breath freely but his chest still hurts?

Groaning, Saeyoung lifts an arm to block out the light and tries to turn away from the source, only managing to somewhat shift while also cause more pain to shoot through him, piercing him straight to the bone.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, don’t move too much. Is it the window? I can shut it. Just a minute.” The voice is familiar, incredibly familiar but something about it feels… wrong. Not fake, but… like it’s not inspiring the right type of emotions. Strange.

The light fades into strips, then nothing, the quiet rustle of plastic the only clue as to why. Soft, quick footsteps make their way back to in front of him and he feels a hand tentatively touch his arm. “Saeyoung?”

“He might not be quite awake yet, Yoosung. The idiot was half-dead by the time I dragged his ass in here.” Okay, that’s definitely Saeran. And the familiar voice is Yoosung. Makes sense.

Also makes sense why he didn’t recognize it right away without the warmth and butterflies that usually accompany it.

It should hurt right now, right? That he doesn’t feel the love he once had toward his best friend. There’s… well, nothing isn’t quite the right word. Maybe the small joy that comes with the presence of a friend but compared to what he’s used to it feels empty. Like he’s a car and his gas tank has been drained almost completely. Still enough there to function but not enough to last long.

“Why did he wait so long?” Yoosung’s voice shakes, thick and sort of nasally. He’s close to or already crying. “Why didn’t he tell anyone? Who was he in love with that he would chose to die rather than get the surgery?” A loud sniff, then the harsh sound of cheap tissues being yanked from a box. “God. I can’t believe I almost lost him and I didn’t even know. I was so wrapped up in everything else…I’m such a terrible friend.”

No, Yoosung, you’re not. It’s hard to get his mouth to move, to listen to what he wants it to do. Maybe it’s the drugs he’s undoubtedly on? Saeyoung feels sluggish, like his limbs are weighted down. He vaguely wonders what the pain would be like if he weren’t medicated. Sure, he’d be able to move more freely but would it be worth it in the end?

“It’s not your fault that your best friend is fucking stupid.” There’s the creak of a bed and then quiet padding toward him. “He, uh. He’s never been good about telling people when something’s wrong, anyway. Plus there’s a history of making the wrong choices, convinced they’re right.” Saeran sounds weak, sort of raspy and his breaths are jagged. Why won’t Saeyoung’s eyes open!? He wants to see what’s wrong with his brother, how he can fix it.

Yoosung gasps softly and fabric rustles before a chair squeals in protest as it’s pushes across the floor. “Saeran! Sit down, the doctors said you’re too weak to move much.”

“Pfft. The doctors can fuck off, I’ll walk over to my brother if I want to. I’m used to being sick. I’ve never handled this sort of shit well.” Yet, if the sound of a body plopping into a chair is any indication, he chooses to sit.

A silence ensues, neither saying anything while Saeyoung is left time to think. Or try to think; his mind is muddled. It’s bothersome that Saeran’s apparently hospitalized too. Is that why he’s been so scarce the past month? Has he been coming down with one of his illnesses and Saeyoung’s been too occupied to notice? Terrible, terrible brother. At least the removal of the tulips didn’t damage his ability to feel guilt and his inflated amount of self-hatred; he can remain himself, albeit without feeling the love he’d held onto for so long.

It is actually sort of peaceful, though. Now he can feel happy that Yoosung is marrying the love of his life without jealousy or hurt butting in to suck the joy out of it. His fear of losing all emotion toward him was unfounded after all, and he couldn’t be more relieved. Back to friends, just friends. No pesky, unwanted feelings to complicate things.

Time passes, Saeyoung falling in and out of sleep without any comprehension of how long he stays like that. He wakes to the feeling of a hand softly combing through his hair and a soft hum, a familiar lullaby that he and Saeran had sung to each other when things got bad in the childhood.

His throat is parched and his mouth feels like a desert but this time his lips listen when he tries to move them. “Sae...ran?”

A snort comes from above him and the hand withdraws. He whines softly, placated momentarily when it returns, though it just sits lightly on his forehead now. “Yeah, I’m here. You’d better thank me for saving your fucking life. You’re the stupidest person I’ve ever met, you know that?”

Despite the harsh words, Saeran’s voice is soft, kind. A buzzing sound beings and Saeyoung jumps when he feels the bed start to rise under his head and back. A shush and the hand moves slightly, scratching soothingly at his scalp. Saeran doesn’t move him to sit up completely, just enough to press a styrofoam cup to his mouth and Saeyoung drinks up the cool water like he’s dying of dehydration. The IV in his arm probably prevents that from actually happening but does the water ever feel good as it hits his tongue, sliding down his raspy throat.

When it’s all gone, he feels the cup moved away. Clearing his throat, he brings a heavy hand up to wipe at his eyes, opening them. Saeran’s there, peering at him with a scrutinizing gaze, brows furrowed on his pale face. He still lacks color.

“God, you look like shit.” Sitting back, Saeran shakes his head and scratches his neck. He’s wearing a light blue hospital gown, an IV attached to his arm as well. Saeyoung glances up at his own, noting that he only has two bags whereas Saeran has three and… another line in his arm? Huh. Wonder what that’s about.

He swallows. Clears his throat again. “You’re not looking so hot yourself,” he manages to say hoarsely, rasping a chuckle when Saeran’s eyebrows shoot up, but he doesn’t miss the twitching of the lips that indicate a grin. His eyes wander the room slowly, but it’s just him and Saeran now. “More water?”

Saeran pushes a button on the bed and a soft beep sounds. There’s a few moments of waiting before someone speaks over a small intercom between the beds. “Did you need something?”

“Yeah. My brother’s awake and asking for water.”

“Be right there.” A moment of static, then silence again.

“How long have I been out?” Saeyoung asks, trying to push himself into a better sitting position and groaning at the pain. A hand shoots out to land on his arm and he flinches when he sees the glare Saeran’s giving him, immediately relaxing back into the semi-awkward half-sit he’s in.

“It’s been a few days. They kept you knocked out to help your body heal more. Any longer and you’d have been dead.” Anger sneaks back into Saeran’s voice and he looks away, Saeyoung just watching him in resignation. He deserves any wrath from him for what he did. He should’ve known better.

“Sorry,” he whispers, feeling Saeran’s hand tighten a moment before retracting.

“That’s not enough.”

A knock on the door interrupts them and a small, blonde woman enters, a cheerful smile on her face. “And the hanahaki twins are both awake and healing well. Great. Since I’m in here, I’ll grab your vitals. That way I won’t have to come back for a little bit unless you guys call for me.”

Saeyoung takes the water gratefully, watching as she wraps a blood pressure cuff around Saeran’s arm and pumps it up, not missing the flinch when it tightens. Hanahaki twins, huh? Is that because he came in with hanahaki and Saeran saved him?

“Okay, now I just need to get your temperature!” Saeran turns his head to the side, eyes lowered and that’s when it hits Saeyoung.

Oh.

 _Oh_.

The flashes of silver and red that always drew his brother’s eye; the way he suddenly became interested in any type of musical; how he joked more when Zen was on the messenger. The snake he named Zorro.

_Hanahaki twins._

“Your turn!”

Saeyoung holds out his arm, not really paying attention as he thinks about it. Saeran locked himself in his room, refused to come out. Stopped logging onto the messenger. Cut himself off from all communication.

_Hanahaki twins._

He’d seemed just as upset when they’d left the engagement party as Saeyoung, but Saeyoung had been too wrapped up in himself to think about it. He’d assumed Saeran was just overwhelmed, something that usually happened at parties.

_Hanahaki twins._

“Make sure you don’t drink this cup too fast, okay? We have to monitor your intake of fluid right now until we know your body is functioning correctly. I can’t give you anything else for an hour.”

He waits until the door clicks shut, then swings his gaze to Saeran. “What flower?”

Saeran fidgets, fingers playing with the blanket over his lap. There’s a pregnant pause before he finally answers, “amaryllis.”

“And yours wasn’t as bad as mine because you cut off all communication with him.”

A slight jerk of the head. Another long break before anyone speaks.

“Were you going to get the surgery?”

Shrugging, Saeran sighs and brings his legs up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them. “I wasn’t sure I was healthy enough for it,” he answers quietly, barely above a whisper. “But once I saw you, I knew we both had to at least try. I’m on some extra medicine to try to help my body keep infection out. Nothing as strong as the stuff you’re on but your plant had worked it way through most of your respiratory system.”

“Yeah.” Saeyoung looks down at the plain white blanket, tracing a faint pink stain on it. “But you’re going to be okay?”

Saeran must not deign that as not worth answering. Instead, he pushes the chair away from Saeyoung’s bed and stands, walking slowly back over to his own and climbing under the covers. “As long as I keep recovering, I can go home in a few days. They don’t know when you can leave.”

That makes sense. They have to keep Saeyoung until he can function at least minimally again. “It feels weird not to love him anymore,” he murmurs, frowning. “It sort of feels like I’m missing something.”

“Yeah.”

“Hey Saeran?”

“Hmm?”

“Thanks.”

Saeran rolls his eyes and turns over to face away, but Saeyoung just manages to catch him say, “you’re welcome, idiot.”

**Author's Note:**

> Did you like it? Did you love it? Did you... *gasp* hate it? Let me know! I'm always open for reviews, comments and helpful criticism.  
> I'm here to grow. :)
> 
> You can also find me on Tumblr as [cutiesaeran](http://cutiesaeran.tumblr.com/) or twitter [@MysticHawke](https://twitter.com/MysticHawke/)!


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